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Nor lefs the myftic characters I fee
Wrought in each flow'r, infcrib'd on ev'ry tree:
In ev'ry leaf that trembles to the breeze,
I hear the voice of God among the trees.
With thee in fhady folitude I walk;
With thee in bufy crowded cities talk;
In ev'ry creature own thy forming pow'r;
In each event thy providence adore.

Thy hopes fhall animate my drooping foul,
Thy precepts guide me, and thy fear control;
Thus fhall I reft, unmov'd by all alarms,
Secure within the temple of thine arms;
From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free,
And feel myself omnipotent in thee.

Then when the laft, the clofing hour draws nigh,
And earth recedes before my fwimming eye;
When, trembling, on the doubtful edge of fate
I ftand, and ftretch my view to either ftate;
Teach me to quit this tranfitory fcene
With decent triumph and a look ferene;
Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high,
And, having liv'd to thee, in thee to die.

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WHEN avarice enflaves the mind,

WHEN
Hand fear views alone bear fway;

Man turns a favage to his kind,
And blood and rapine mark his way:
Alas! for this poor fimple toy,
I fold a blooming NEGRO BOY.

His father's hope, his mother's pride;
Though black, yet comely to their view;
I tore him helpless from their fide,
And gave him to a ruffian crew:

To fiends that AFRIC's coafts annoy,
I fold the blooming NEGRO BOY.

From country, friends, and parents torn,
His tender limbs in chains confin'd,
I faw him o'er the billows borne,
And mark'd his agony of mind:
But ftill to gain this fimple toy,

I

gave away the NEGRO BOY.

In ifles that deck the western wave,
I doom'd the hopeless youth to dwell,
A poor, forlorn, infulted flave,

A beaft that Chriftians buy and fell:

Who in their cruel tasks employ
The much-enduring NEGRO BOY.

His wretched parents long fhall mourn;
Shall long explore the diftant main,
In hopes to see the youth return;
But all their hopes and fighs are vain:
They never fhall the fight enjoy
Of their lamented NEGRO BOY.

Beneath a tyrant's harsh command,
He wears away his youthful prime,
Far-diftant from his native land,
A ftranger in a foreign clime:

No pleafing thoughts his mind employ,
A poor, dejected NEGRO BOY.

But He who walks upon the wind,
Whofe voice in thunder's heard on high;
Who doth the raging tempeft bind,
Or wing the lightning through the sky,
In his own time will foon deftroy
Th' oppreffors of the NEGRO BOY.

SONNET.

BY. J. C. MACARTNEY.

W when beneath the mountain fets the fun,

WHEN the bufy toil of day is done,

Soft and fair,
Through vernal air,

The little birds fing cheerily;
Then I rove

To meet my love;

My bounding heart beats merrily.

When the yellow moon-beams light the vale,
When the bird of forrow tells her tale;

Sweet and flow,

The warbled woe

Sounds through the woodlands drearily.
Then breathe I

The tender figh,

Refponfive to her melody.

ADDRESS.

Delivered at the Liverpool Theatre, by Mr. HOLMAN,

On Monday Auguft 13, 1798, when a free benefit was given to the children of the late Mr. PALMER,

BY MR. ROSCOE.

Y precincts walls!

E airy Sprites, who, oft as fancy calls,

Light forms, that float in mirth's tumultuous throng,
And frolic dance, and revelry, and fong;

Fold your gay wings, reprefs your wonted fire-
And from
your favorite feat a while retire:
And thou, whofe pow'rs fublimer thoughts impart,
Queen of the Springs that move the human Heart,
With change alternate; at whofe magic call
The fwelling tides of paffion rife or fall-
Thou, too, withdraw; for 'midft thy lov'd abode,
With step more ftern, a mightier pow'r has trod:
Here, on this fpot, to ev'ry eye confeft,
Enrob'd with terrors, flood the Kingly Gueft:
Here, on this fpot, DEATH wav'd th' unerring Dart,
And ftruck, his nobleft prize, AN HONEST HEART!
What wond'rous links the human Feelings bind;
How ftrong the secret Sympathies of Mind!
As Fancy's pictur'd forms around us move,
We hope or fear, rejoice, deteft or love;
Nor heaves the Sigh for SELFISH woes alone-
CONGENIAL Sorrows mingle with our own:
Hence, as the poet's raptur'd eye-balls roll,
The fond delirium feizes all his foul;

And, whilft his pulfe concordant measure keeps,
He fmiles in transport, or in anguish weeps.
But, ah, lamented fhade, not thine to know
The anguifh only of IMAGIN'D Woe!

Deftin'd o'er Life's SUBSTANTIAL ills to mourn,
And fond parental ties untimely torn;
Then while thy bofom, lab'ring with its grief,
From fabled forrows fought a fhort relief,

The FANCY'D Woes, too true to nature's tone,
Burit the flight barrier, and became thy own:--
In mingled tides the fwelling Paffions ran,
Abforb'd the Actor, and o'erwhelm'd the Man!

Martyr of Sympathy, more fadly true
Than ever FANCY feign'd, or POET drew,
Say why, by Heav'n's acknowledg'd hand impreft,
Such keen fenfations actuate all the breaft ?
Why throbs the heart for joys that long have fled?
Why lingers HOPE around the filent dead?
Why fpurns the spirit its incumbʼring clay,
And longs to foar to happier realms away?
Does Heav'n, unjust, the fond defire instill,
To add to mortal woes another ill?

Is there, through all the intellectual frame,
No kindred mind that prompts the nightly dream;
Or, in lone mufings of remembrance sweet,
Infpires the fecret wifh-once more to meet?
There is: for, not by more determin'd laws
The fympathetic fteel the Magnet draws,
Than the freed Spirit acts with ftrong controul,
On its refponfive Sympathies of Soul;
And tells in characters of truth unfurl'd—
"There is another, and a BETTER world!"
Yet, whilft we forrowing tread this earthly ball,
For human woes a human tear will fall;
Bleft be that tear: who gives it doubly bleft,
That heals with balm the Orphan's wounded breast!
Not all that breathes in Morning's genial dew
Revives the Parent Plant where once it grew;
Yet may those dews with timely nurture aid
The infant Flow'rets drooping in the fhade;
Whilft long-experienc'd Worth and Manners mild-
A Father's merits—still protect his child.

PAPER.

BY DR. FRANKLIN.

SOME wit of old-fuch wits of old there were,

Whose hints fhew'd meaning; whose allusions care; By one brave stroke, to mark all human kind, Call'd clear blank paper ev'ry infant mind, When ftill as op'ning fenfe her dictates wrote, Fair virtue put à seal, or vice a blot.

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